


The Social Habits of Robins

by firefright



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Bonding, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Drunkenness, Fluff, Gen, Past Character Death, Robin Pile, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vacation, ship-tease: the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason thinks his brothers do this to him on purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I needed fluff between all the angst I write, so behold a Robin pile for your enjoyment! This will be added with other little one-shots later. Tags will be updated to reflect these as I go.

Jason doesn't know why it is, when this happens (and the fact it happens is a bizarrely new phenomenon that freaks him out a little), that he always ends up playing mattress to all the other Robin's.

One big group fight against some dastardly bad guy, old or new, and Dick - always Dick - will suggest they crash at one safehouse or another, order in pizza and watch a movie. Brotherly bonding time, he says, usually looking a little more intently at Jason than anyone else, because Jason's the outlier that Dick's determined to drag back into the fold.

He'd resent that if it weren't true. Actually he resents it anyway, especially when Tim adds his expectant gaze to the mix, touched with a smidge of that old wide-eyed hero worship Jason thought he would have grown out of after he'd tried to kill him a couple times. It's like a damn conspiracy.

Sometimes Jason thinks he's actually the _least_ crazy one out of the family, as mad as that sounds.

Tonight they wind up at Dick's Gotham penthouse, which is notable for not being as grotesquely opulent as most other residences of the rich and famous, and for the fact it has a huge and very comfortable corner couch. The type of couch that, if he were to never be allowed a bed again, Jason would quite happily sleep on for the rest of his life; and that was saying something, because his bed was _awesome_. 

Seriously, he'd put a lot of good money into that bed, but probably not as much as Dick had put into this couch.

Anyway, one movie and the remains of three twelve inch pizza's later (one meat feast, one Hawaiian, the other vegetarian for the demon brat) Jason can't _move_. He can't even feel his arms, and Jason's pretty sure they do this on purpose.

Dick's laid claim to one shoulder, his head tucked in near against Jason's neck, and he's got Jason's arm pinned behind his back against the couch cushion. It's a position mirrored on his other side by Tim, though he's short enough his head lands more or less on Jason's chest rather than higher up. Both of them are breathing at the slow steady pace that indicates true slumber.

And, as if that wasn't criminal enough, the demon brat is curled up at and _on_ Jason's feet.

Fucking assholes. So what if he's the tallest and broadest out of all of them (at least until Damian hits another inevitable growth spurt), so what if he likes to sit in the corner of the couch and sprawl out comfortably while he deals with being rehabilitated through guilt-tripping socialisation? It doesn't mean he asks for this.

"Fuck you all." Jason says without much venom to his sleeping audience, watching the title screen of the movie loop around for the fiftieth time. He's pretty sure the soundtrack is going to add a new interesting element to his nightmares later on.

Tim's pale, long-fingered hand smacks sleepily against his pec a second later, and Jason thinks that if Tim was more awake he'd be blushing bright red for doing that. "Shut up and go to sleep, Jay."

"Can't, can't feel my arms."

"Sleepin' people don't need arms."

Jason snorts. "Good reasoning, Detective Drake."

A soft snore is the only answer he gets, so Jason thinks what the hell, he might as well join in. It's not like he doesn't know a losing battle when he see's one at this point, plus Jason's not feeling like enough of an asshole to knock Dick and Tim to the floor tonight, funny as it would be (he tells himself he's just saving that for the morning).

Jason lets his head fall back against the top of the couch, staring at the ceiling for a full minute before he finally closes his eyes. He doesn't think it'll be as quick and simple to drop off for him as his brothers made it look, but he'll give it his best try.

Only for tonight he tells himself, just like he did every night before. It's only for tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's adventures with couches continue.

"You look like a corpse we just pulled out of the river."

"Wrong," Jason answers, not bothering to move his arm from where it's draped over his face when he hears Tim's voice. It's good to know they watch the same TV shows. "I look like a cool rock star who OD'd in his own pool. Big difference."

He hears Tim snort, before a hand pushes at the arm he has draped over his face insistently. Jason makes sure to let out a very theatrical groan to let Tim know just how great an endeavour he's asking of him to move it.

"What?" Jason asks, blinking up at his little brother, who's leaning over the back of the couch still in full Red Robin costume, sans mask. 

Tim raises an eyebrow, "You're sleeping on my couch."

"Good observation."

" _Why_ are you sleeping on my couch?" Tim amends, with a put upon sigh. He looks tired, shadows like bruises underneath his eyes, skin drawn and pale. Normal then.

"It was closer than mine, duh." Sometimes the truth is exactly as dumb as it sounds. "By the way, this is the worst couch I've ever slept on. Where did you even buy this thing? Because whatever you paid for it, it was too much. I've slept on rocks that are softer than this couch."

He manages to startle a laugh out of Tim, who first leans his arms over the back of the couch, then rests his pointy little chin in one hand. "You know there's a spare bedroom you could crash in right? You already went to the trouble of breaking into my apartment, so you might as well take a bed."

"Didn't want to be impolite." Jason grunts, dropping his arm back across his eyes. A moment later he hisses sharply as the added weight pushes his neck back against the very stiff and very square couch arm. "I think I have a permanent crick in my neck."

"Aw, poor baby."

"Seriously, where did you get this couch, Satan's yard sale?" He ignores the sarcasm in favour of his rant, "Was it made as a future business investment by the 'Evil League of Chiropractors'? I know you're a glutton for punishment, baby bird, but what the hell. "

Tim walks around the front of the couch, then makes a gallant attempt at hauling Jason up off the offending piece of furniture by pulling at his arm. Instead Jason uses the opportunity - and his vastly superior body weight - to pull Tim down on top of him, then wraps his arm around his replacement's waist to make sure he can't escape.

"Oof!" Tim's chin digs into Jason's chest like a knife, because he's one of those people who's comprised solely of sharp angles. Jason doesn't mind, despite all his complaining it's not actually the most uncomfortable he's ever been (no, he pushes that thought to the back of his mind where it belongs)."What the hell, Jason?"

"You look tired," Jason answers, cracking a pretty impressive yawn as he does. "You should sleep."

Tim tries to sit up, but Jason slides his hand under the currently flexible 'feathers' that make up his cape and uses his greater strength to hold Tim down, trying not to think about how the application of a simple electric current could graduate him from zombie to Captain Hook in a millisecond for doing so. His younger brother sounds incredulous, " _Sleep_. With you. On the couch. The one which we've already established you hate?"

"What?" He moves his arm enough to peer at Tim again, at his mussed hair and flushed face, and can't resist grinning widely, "You seem okay with it on movie nights."

Predictably the tips of Tim's ears turn red, and he ducks his head down so Jason can't see his expression. "That's different, it's..." he groans, "Look, are you going to let me go so I can get some work done?"

"Nope." Jason answers decisively, "It's naptime." and puts his arm back over his face to end the argument.

There's a few more minute's of Tim shifting irritably and grumbling under his breath, but Jason keeps his hold firm until he feels him stop and Tim drops his head down onto Jason's collarbone in defeat. He must be really tired, because barely a minute later Jason hears his breathing start to even out and the grip Tim has on his arm goes lax.

River corpse, one; Tim, zero. Definitely worth not being able to feel his neck tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tv show lines Jason and Tim exchange at the start of the fic are from Brooklyn 99, a fantastic show which I started watching recently. This is also inspired by a wonderful piece of fanart I saw once, I would love if anyone out there knows where to find it with a source to the artist I can credit!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kids these days.

"Stop that."

Damian pauses in sharpening his batarang, briefly debates the wisdom in answering, then with a sigh lets himself take the bait.

"Stop what, Todd?" He asks Jason, who's giving him a scowl that the youngest member of the bat clan had only previously seen him bestow on the gravest of enemies. That, or it was the look he gave the person who took the last piece of pizza before Jason could snatch it for himself.

" _That._ " Jason hisses, using the acknowledgment to encroach further on Damian's personal space, and Damian wonders if it's still okay to punch him or not; Todd becoming significantly less murderous in later years had blurred the lines of justified violence that Dick had taken such care to enforce on Damian when he was younger. Maybe if it was just a light punch to the jaw...

Damian sighs instead, puts down the batarang and the sharpening tool, then gives Jason his full attention. "Again I ask, stop _what_? You're making even less sense than usual, Hood."

Jason makes a gesture that briefly encapsulates all of Damian, which doesn't actually explain anything until Damian stands up and looks Jason straight in the eye without having to lift his head. _Oh_ , Damian thinks, with a vindictive pleasure that's been a long time in coming, _That's what._

Affecting a slow, smug drawl, Damian smirks back at Jason. "Really, Todd? You're that insecure? Surely it occurred to you before now that I would of course end up being superior in height to you."

His older brother bristles petulantly, trying to defend himself from the obvious truth. "No it - damn it, it's just weird, that's all." 

"Tt, pathetic." Damian flaps his hand dismissively at Jason in the way he knows he hates. "Go bother someone else with your copious issues. Stand next to Drake if it'll make you feel better."

He feels more than hears Jason come towards him as Damian turns his back. At sixteen he's even more capable of putting Todd down than he was when he was ten, but instead, in a show of growing maturity, Damian merely growls out a warning as a hand grasps his arm to turn him back around, "What now?"

"I'll let you be taller than me on one condition, brat."

"You'll _let_ me -" Damian starts to scoff, before Jason cuts him off with a glare and a warning squeeze to his arm.

"One." Jason holds up a finger to Damian's face, inches from his nose. "Condition."

There are so many better things he can be doing than giving time to Jason's theatrics, but Damian still sighs and nods. "Go on."

"You get taller than Bruce too."

"Excuse me?" Damian couldn't have just heard that right.

"Get taller than Bruce," Sure enough, Jason's smirking, grinning really, like the lunatic Damian's always known him to be. "It'll drive him crazy."

" _You're_ crazy. And father is not so immature as to be bothered by -"

"Yes he is." Jason says gleefully, "Come on, brat, you know he is! Bruce is exactly the kind of anal, neurotic asshole to bothered by it. And it's about time someone else got to loom over him for a change."

Of course the moment Damian actually stops to think about it the more he likes the idea himself. He's had a problem with ego, a flaw that not even Dick, Bruce's and Alfred's combined efforts could stomp out of him, and having the advantage of height over everyone else in the family is an instant appeal to that effect.

"I don't control my genetics, you imbecile." Damian argues back, to try and deflect attention from that epiphany, though judging by the smirk on Jason's face he's unsuccessful in that regard. Jason is also, for some reason, keeping a hold on Damian's arm (and for some reason he doesn't try to immediately pull himself free). "It's hardly up to me or anyone else how tall I grow."

"Well not with that shitty attitude," Jason replies gamely, and before Damian can react he flicks his forehead with one hand and releases Damian's arm from the other. "You gotta dream big to get where you want in life, demon spawn."

Damian throws out a half-hearted punch, which Jason ducks before skirting backwards across the cave floor to where he parked his motorcycle.

"It's two more inches!" Jason yells back over his shoulder as he straddles the bike, "Just believe in yourself, brat!"

"You are utterly insane!" Damian calls back, as Jason slips his helmet over his head and guns the engine.

If he's restraining a smile of his own as Jason flips him off and drives out of the cave, well... no one else has to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly believe Damian would probably be one of those kids who hits 14/15 and suddenly just sprouts up out of nowhere. It's totally my headcanon that he'd end up taller than Bruce as well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Hope you all had a fun New Years! Here's some more Social Robins for you all, featuring one of my favourite things: drunk birds :) Wishing you all a great 2016!
> 
> (For everyone waiting on a new chapter of A Matter of Family, the next part isn't _quite_ finished yet, so it should be up next weekend!)

Jason wishes he could say he'd seen this coming, but he really, really hadn't.

"You're pathetic." He tells Dick, rolling his eyes and snatching the bottle of nasty cheap vodka out of his hand, "Completely pathetic."

"Jaaaay..." Dick whines up from the carpet of Jason's favourite safehouse, and why he's here - instead of with one of his actual friends - Jason will get to the bottom of in a minute, after he's dispensed with the pleasantries. The vodka burns pleasantly going down and Jason decides maybe it's not complete swill after all. "That's mine!"

"Fight me." Jason says, for lack of anything better coming to mind. He takes another swig from the bottle before setting it safely to one side and out of Dick's reach, then squints contemplatively down at his big brother.

Here's what he knows: Fact one, today was Dick's thirtieth birthday; fact two, Dick had been dragged out to a surprise party organised by his old Titan pals; fact three, Jason, Tim, Damian and Cass had shared the extra burden of taking on Dick's territory alongside their own tonight so that the eldest could both have fun and get well and truly smashed for once. At least, that's how Roy had put it to Jason when first bringing up the concept of the plan.

(Fact four, he needs to sucker punch Roy when he see's him tomorrow for not texting him about the imminent intrusion of a drunk Dick Grayson into his post-patrol routine.)

"I don't wanna fight." Dick groans, putting his head against his knees, "Fought you enough already."

Jason stares at him again for another moment, then with a heavy sigh sits down on his couch. "Okay, what's up Nightwaste? Why are you hanging at my apartment instead of with your idiot friends?"

"Roy's your friend too."

"Yeah, like I said, _idiot_ friends." Jason makes a beckoning gesture, then when Dick doesn't move makes the effort of heaving him up onto the couch beside him instead. "Come on, big bird, tell me what's going on."

He's expecting some heavy answer, maybe one of the confessions of regret that so often seem to happen around Jason or something similarly serious. What's he's not expecting is for Dick to look at him with his bottom lip quivering, his eyes wide and scandalised as he whispers, "Jason, I'm _thirty_."

Jason laughs. And it's worth the pout on Dick's stupid handsome face as he chokes on (manly) giggles. 

"It's not funny, Jay!"

"It's hilarious!" Jason answers as soon as he's capable of doing so, wheezing for breath as he reaches up to wipe tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes. "Are you seriously freaking out because you're thirty? How cliché of you, Dickie!"

Dick's face colours. He was already flushed because of the alcohol in his system, but Jason assumes this has more to do with embarrassment. "It's not... not like that. It's..." He casts a longing look at where Jason has set the bottle, yet doesn't seem to have the coordination left to be able to get up and retrieve it for himself. "Come on, Jay."

"It's what?" Jason prompts, after he gets control of himself again. "Come on, Dick. What's behind the future blackmail material?"

"It's just..." He watches Dick groan and hide his face in his hands. "It's dumb."

"Well obviously."

Dick peeks out between his fingers to glare at him, looking about as threatening as a gravity-challenged kitten before he relents. "It's just... sometimes I never thought I'd make it to thirty, doing what we do, and now I have I... I don't know... feels weird. Like, _whoa_ , I'm here, you know? Everything we've gone through and I'm still here."

He shrugs helplessly, still embarrassed. Jason on the other hand feels a chill run down his spine.

Thinking he might never make it to thirty? Yeah, he remembers how that is. He can never forget how close they've all come over the years to dying, or the times they actually have been dead for various lengths of time; minus Tim, the lucky bastard. Jason still thinks he wins over all of them though (and Damian can suck it if he argues otherwise).

"Are you kidding me?!" Jason asks, more sharply than before, waiting for Dick to look at him properly before carrying on. "You were right, it is dumb. It's dumb you ever thought that, you know why?"

Dick's face has paled, probably because he's just realised what an insensitive thing that was to say to the person sitting in front of him, even if it's likely what subconsciously led him to seek Jason out in the first place. He shakes his head slowly.

"Because none of us, _none_ of us, would ever let that happen." Jason kicks his foot against Dick's ankle, swallowing past his bitterness to continue. "We took a class field trip to Apokolips to get Damian back for crying out loud, and half the time we can't even stand him. Can you imagine what we'd do for you?"

You know, in a case where Dick was actually dead and not just pretending for one of Bruce's bullshit schemes. Jason still has a grudge against him for that one.

"Jay, I -"

"So yeah, Dick, you hit thirty. And so will the rest of us, because one thing you bastards have been hell bent on beating through my thick skull is that us Robin's look after each other. So get your head together, big bird, and stop moping on what's left of your birthday. Otherwise I'll knock some sense into you the old-fashioned way."

Dick looks up at him, a too-pretty mess of a human being, and suddenly lunges forwards to throw his arms around Jason in what the younger man privately calls one of his 'tentacle hugs (so named for Dick's inhuman flexibility, which only seems to get worse when he's drunk). 

"Ugh!" Jason groans, patting Dick's back uncomfortably, "Get off me, circus freak."

"That's the nicest thing you ever said to me, Jay." His big brother sniffles pathetically, making Jason hate himself for how it warms the cold cockles of his heart. "You really do love us."

Oh hell no. "Shut up, Dick."

"You loooove us!"

"Oh my God, shut up!"

"It's so cute, little wing."

"I'm gonna kick your ass so hard," Jason grumbles, as Dick sloppily kisses his cheek. "Let you sleep it off in the street."

"Mmhm." Dick snuggles in against his side, completely unintimidated. "Heroes don't do that."

Something catches in his chest as Dick's breath comes hot against his neck, making Jason shiver. "I'm not a hero, pretty bird."

"You are. Always were." He says resolutely, "Don't even kill people anymore."

"That you know of."

"Nah, y'don't. Know you don't." Dick's hand blindly pets his face, coming perilously close to poking Jason in the eye. "Known for a while. S'cause you're family."

"You are the sappiest bastard that I'm ashamed to be legally related to."

Dick grins ridiculously, "It's okay, Jay, we love you too."

Jason swallows down his discomfort and responds the only way he knows how in this situation. "Whatever, old man. Try me again when you're sober."

"Anytime, Jay." His brother yawns, hand curling around Jason's hip in a way that feels oddly possessive. "Anytime."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before.

_Click. Whirr._

The first thing Dick registers, as he hauls himself back into the world of the reluctantly awakened, is the pounding in his head that signals he drank way too much last night. The second -

_Click. Whirr._

\- is whatever the hell that sound is.

Dick groans and immediately regrets it. His brain feels like it's leaking out his ears and he should probably apologise to Jason about ruining the upholstery, but that would require figuring out how to open his eyes. Something that was so much easier to do before last night.

"You were right, Jason, I've never seen him this bad before." Someone familiar says. If he concentrates Dick can just about make out what direction they're standing in. Forwards.

"Duh, that's why I called you over here. To record this moment, y'know, for posterity."

"Blackmail you mean."

"Same thing."

Another groan is unleashed, this time in protest at the voices, and his effort is rewarded by the soft press of a cool wet cloth against his forehead. "Tt." Dick knows this person, really he does. "You need to wake up, Grayson, before these morons take further advantage of your pathetic state."

Dick cracks open one eyelid finally, making out a blurry figure in front of him. "Damian?"

"The same." Damian looks distinctly unimpressed as he squeezes his broad and still growing frame between the couch Dick's lying on and Jason's second-hand coffee table (Jason's second-hand everything). "How are you feeling?"

It's his hand holding the cloth to Dick's head and the eldest Robin sighs gratefully. "Like I got hit by a truck."

"That's generally what happens when you go out drinking with Harper." Jason agrees from somewhere off-screen, and as Dick's vision clears he can make out Tim standing next to the TV, camera in hand. "Remember Dickie, only you have the power to say no."

Now he knows what that noise was.

"You guys... are assholes."

A glass of water appears in his vision, held by a large pale hand. Damian reaches up to take it, then Dick hear's footsteps turn back to the kitchen. He thinks he can smell bacon and if that's true he forgives Jason, totally and utterly.

"We're family." Tim says, smiling as he puts his camera away in his bag. Dick resolves to come up with a plan to steal it and delete those photo's later. "That's kind of our job."

He steps forward and together he and Damian help Dick sit up, supporting his shaking hand as he gulps the water down. Dick doesn't remember having this bad a hangover even when he was a teenager and so much better equipped to handle his alcohol. "I," he proclaims, "Am never going drinking again."

"Say that again in ten years when you turn forty and maybe we'll believe you."

Damian tut's again as Jason laughs from the kitchen at Tim's words, putting his arm awkwardly around Dick when the eldest Robin half-collapses against him. "Little D, save me from the mean birds."

"Save yourself." Damian grumbles without pushing him away. It only took six years but Dick finally wore him down about casual physical contact. "I agree with Todd, I don't know why you ever agreed to go out on such a foolish venture in the first place. Drinking dulls your senses and makes you vulnerable. If something had happened you would have been in no state to defend yourself."

"They're my friends, Dami, I couldn't just say no. They wanted me to have fun."

Bits and pieces of last night are slowly coming back to him. Donna's smile, Wally's laugh, Roy's hands on his hips as he forced Dick out onto the dance floor. Kori's tongue down his throat when she gave him a birthday kiss. Then -

\- then there was Jason. Dick feels his face heat up as he remembers that conversation. He wouldn't be surprised if Jason calling Damian and Tim here this morning was some kind of subtle vengeance for Dick forcing him to talk about his feelings. Jason could be weirdly vindictive that way.

God, he hopes he hasn't told them the specifics of what happened last night.

"There are far better ways to have fun."

"Damian, your only idea of a good time is beating up bad guys." Tim interjects over Damian, who shoots him a glare.

"I have plenty of hobbies, Drake. One's that are far more cultured than your idiotic pastimes."

"Just because you suck at Mario Kart."

"Both of you shut up." Jason sweeps into view, setting a large plate of bacon, sausage, eggs and toast on the table in front of Dick, as well as a second glass of water. It's exactly the kind of mouth-watering grease-fest his poor aching brain is craving. Dick let's out a moan of longing while Damian eyes the plate in disgust. "Jason, I love you."

Jason's face turns pink as Tim snickers. The blush runs over his cheeks and nose, as well as the tips of his ears. It's just as adorable now as it was when he was twelve. "Whatever asshole, don't throw up on my carpet. If you do you're cleaning it up."

Dropping down to the floor near Tim (who instantly shoves his foot under his thigh), Jason reaches for the remote and flips between channels on the TV until something bright and colourful and gloriously uncomplicated is playing on the screen. Meanwhile Dick pulls the plate onto his lap, tries and fails to stop Tim from stealing a rasher of bacon, and digs in happily as he's surrounded by his brothers.

He feels better already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /gradually turns up the gay


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So this is that extra little update I promised you guys this week since I hit over 100 user subs here on Ao3, and the start of a mini arc for this series XD Hope you all enjoy!

“We should take a vacation.” Dick says, fingers resting lightly curled atop Jason’s hair.

Jason’s not exactly sure how he got here, with his head resting back in Dick’s lap from where he’s sitting on the floor. Probably something to do with the swollen and bandaged ankle Dick currently has propped up on the coffee table. But it’s nice, and so long as nothing world-ending happens the gentle rubbing of Dick’s fingertips against his scalp is probably going to make him drop off to sleep sometime in the near future.

“A vacation.” He repeats gruffly. On the TV some baking show is playing, one without an angry British chef yelling at everybody. It’s kind of giving him a craving for cupcakes. “Since when do we take vacations?”

“That’s exactly my point.” says Dick. “We never do, which is exactly why we should take one now. Me, you, Damian and Tim. I think it would be good for us.”

Relaxed Jason might be, but he’s not so out of it to miss the practiced tone in Dick’s voice. This isn’t as spontaneous a conversation as he’d like Jason to believe, which makes sense, Dick himself isn’t as spontaneous as most people think he is. Or as much as he’d want them to believe. Of course he doesn’t hold a candle to Tim on the planning front - none of them do - but he’s still a leader, and a son of Batman, and more than cunning enough to lay a trap when he wants something.

Jason decides to play along, just to see where this is going. “And say we did do that, where would we go?”

“Roy mentioned he and Kori won’t be at the Outlaws island next weekend.”

Because they’re taking Lian to Disneyland, like a real normal family. Jason had been invited too, but dealing with that much colour and joy was beyond him. Still, sounds like someone’s been co-conspiring, and Jason makes a note to thump Roy next time he sees him. “Kind of short notice, don’t you think? I got shit to do, and Bruce will never allow -”

“The girls will cover for us and take care of any ongoing cases we have.” Dick says cheerfully, “So long as we cover for them the weekend after.”

Jason groans and leans his head back far enough that he can kind of see Dick’s face. He looks open and hopeful, wearing that stupid puppy look he still has that’s completely unsuited to a man of thirty.

(Which makes it all the more unbelievable that Bruce would let them go. He’s approaching fifty now, and as much as none of them want to admit it he’s slowing down. The idea of Bruce not having backup he can call in at moment’s notice makes Jason uncomfortable in ways he doesn’t want to admit.)

“You already convinced everyone else, didn't you?” Including Damian apparently. Score one for Dickie bird, he’s probably the only person who could ever manage that feat.

“Pleaaase, little wing?” Dick’s eyes widen a little more, “I promise it’ll be fun.”

There’s an old bitter part of Jason that wants to say no. No, he doesn’t want to deal with their crap for a full weekend. No, the island is his home away from home, not theirs. But the larger parts of Jason must actually be growing and learning and shit like that, because instead he sighs and turns his head away, only pretending to grimace. “I guess someone’s got to be there to stop the rest of you from trashing the place. Harper’s already bad enough for making a mess.”

He won’t look back. He absolutely refuses to, knowing that Dick is grinning happily in his direction now.

The hand in his hair smooths back again, scratching once more against his scalp, and that in itself feels good enough to make Jason glad he sort-of said yes. “Thanks, Jay.”

“Whatever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](http://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, here's some more cute for you today. Hope you've all been having a great weekend!

“Odds of Tim bursting into flames, what’ll you give me?”

Damian turns his head to look at Jason beside him, who has his eyes fixed on the aforementioned member of their quartet with an avidness he probably doesn’t even realise he’s projecting. It’s kind of disgusting to watch actually. “I don’t make bets, Todd.”

“I’m saying two to one.” Jason continues, as if he hadn’t said anything. “We’ll be sweeping Tim up into a dustpan by the end of the day.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Tim complains from where he’s sitting on the Outlaws couch, carefully applying sunscreen to every inch of bare skin that he can reach. Out of all of them, only Damian and Dick are anything less than ghostly pale from their largely nocturnal lifestyles, but Tim takes it to the extreme. “It’s not my fault I burn easily.”

“Like a pretty, pretty princess.”

“Or a member of the undead.” Damian chimes in on the end of Jason’s insult, smirking, because he still gets a kick out of riling Drake up even after all the years they’ve known each other.

Tim glares at them both, particularly Jason when he starts to guffaw, “Yeah, okay, considering I’m the only Robin out of all of us who hasn’t come back from the dead in some way, I don’t think either of you have a leg to stand on when saying anything like that about me.” He sighs, “Look, will one of you please just get over here and help me finish covering my back so I can actually go outside sometime soon?”

Damian and Jason look at each other. Then Jason smirks, shrugging his broad shoulders before striding towards the door before Damian can raise an objection. “All yours, demon brat. I’m going to go grab the surfboards out of the shed.”

Damian glares back at him for leaving him here in Drake's company. He’d tell Grayson to do it if Dick hadn't already escaped outside, shouting that the ocean was calling his name after dumping his luggage on the floor before the rest of them could even blink. That sort of idiocy was just typical of his family. 

“Fine.” Damian mutters, then slouches over to where Tim’s sitting with the medically prescribed bottle of sunscreen in hand. Damian glares as he takes it from him, before turning the bottle round so that he can read the label, “Remind me again how you survived visiting my grandfather’s compound in the desert previously, Drake?”

“Shut up.” Tim grumbles, turning round so that his back is facing towards him. “I was wearing the Red Robin suit then. You might have noticed that it doesn’t exactly leave much room for me to get sunburnt.”

“Tt.” Damian stares at the pale expanse of his back for a moment, and the small area of skin that Drake’s own flexibility hadn’t been enough to cover, before hurriedly looking down and focusing on squeezing out a dollop of the sunscreen into his palm. The bottle makes an unfortunate squelching noise as soon he applies pressure on it, and when Damian cringes back at the unpleasantness of the sound he can see the faint trembling in Tim’s shoulders that means he’s holding back laughter.

With a low growl to cover his embarrassment, Damian does the first thing he can think of in retaliation: slapping his hand with the sunscreen on it directly onto the middle of Tim’s back. Predictably, his fool of a predecessor yelps in shock at the impact, “What the hell, Damian!”

“I’m sorry, Drake?” Damian drawls, with absolutely zero attempt made to play the innocent. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I asked you to put sunscreen on my back, not assault me!"

“A task you would have noticed I have accomplished, if you were paying attention instead of yapping like a dog.” Damian says, rolling his eyes in the face of Tim's glare as he starts to withdraw his hand. 

“You mean half-assed. You’re know you’re supposed to actually rub it into the skin, Damian,” Tim rolls his eyes. “Not just slap it on there.”

“I hardly see the need for that.” He argues in turn, more out of habit these days than anything else. “It will still do its job adequately as it is. Go ask Grayson for further assistance if you are unhappy with the results of mine.”

“First off, no it won’t. And secondly, come on.” Tim sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Just do it for me. It’ll take like ten seconds, then we can go out and make sure Jason hasn’t tried to drown Dick in the ocean.” When Damian continues to do nothing, he narrows his eyes even further, “Unless... it makes you uncomfortable, of course.”

“Uncomfortable? Hardly. It’s _sunscreen_ , Drake. Why on earth would I be uncomfortable.” Damian sniffs. What a ridiculous accusation, he’s not at all… of course he isn’t, and how dare Drake imply otherwise. “But if it will make you cease your whining, then fine. I will finish the job to your specifications.”

He lifts his hand back up, hesitates, then forces himself to place it back onto Tim’s back before rubbing the sunscreen into his skin. It’s not difficult or uncomfortable, of course, but it is… well, no. It’s no different than touching Tim when he’s injured, which is usually the only other time that Damian does such a thing. They’re still rivals after all, no matter how they’ve come in terms of their respect for one another.

(And he tries not to think about how soft Tim’s skin is where scars are not, or about the way he shivers slightly when Damian’s fingers press in against what is obviously a sensitive spot on his back.)

When he looks back up again, it’s to see that Tim is now smiling gently at him over his shoulder instead of glaring. “Thanks, Damian.”

“It’s nothing.” Damian mutters once he’s done, turning his head away before straightening back up and cursing the stupid adolescent hormones that are the current bane of his existence. “Are you suitably covered now? May we go finally go outside?”

“Sure, let’s go outside.” Tim stands, before carefully stepping over Dick’s discarded luggage towards the door. It’ll be a wonder if Todd - the notoriously fastidious one among them - hasn’t actually tried to drown their eldest brother the way Tim implied for that calamity yet. “I need to go kick Jason’s ass at surfing now that he’s mentioned they have boards here.”

“You can surf?”

“What?” Tim looks back at him from the doorway, raising his eyebrows, “Does that surprise you?”

After years of knowing Tim, and exactly how much he’s capable of, Damian wants to say no, but the truth is that his predecessor always continues to surprise him in ways he never expects. “A little.”

Tim purses his lips, then smiles again. “I think the bigger question here is, do _you_ know how to surf, Damian?”

Damian hesitates before answering. He’s seen that particular smile on Drake’s face many times before; it’s one that practically screams that there’s a trap being laid out before him, though he can't for the life of him think what it is. “I… not exactly." he reluctantly admits, "But it can’t be that difficult, surely.”

“See, you say that....” Tim’s eyes shine brightly in the sunlight that enters the room when he opens the door, but there doesn’t seem to be any treacherous motivation behind his words when he says, “Come on, I’ll show you how, if you want. Consider it payment for helping me with the sunscreen.”

Ignoring his own feelings of trepidation, Damian nods, and without another word follows Tim through the door and out onto the beach, where the rolling sound of the incoming waves beckons them forwards towards the water.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey, it's been a bit of a stressful weekend for me, so I figured what better time than now to post some Social Robins. Fluff really does make everything better.

“This really is the best idea I’ve ever had.” Dick sighs happily, as he stretches himself out further over the beach towel he’s lying on. With his arms above his head and his feet pointed down, he can feel the sand of the beach grazing the tips of toes and fingers. It’s warm against his back, even through the thick cotton, and where the sun itself hits his skin… _bliss_.

“Mm.” Jason agrees to his left. “I could go with that.”

“I’m serious, I haven’t felt this relaxed in years. Heck, I didn’t even know it was _possible t_ o feel this relaxed anymore.”

This time Jason snorts. “Which makes it even weirder that you’re the one that suggested it in the first place.”

In front of them, the faint sounds of Damian and Tim’s voices drift up from the waves, too far away for the individual words to be distinguishable from the sound of the water, but since they don’t sound angry or like they’re trying to kill each other, Dick doesn’t let himself worry about it. He does, however, frown in confusion at Jason and turn his head to look at where his brother is laid out next to him on his own towel. 

Unlike him, Jason’s feet fall over the edge to touch the sand whether he’s stretching or not.

“Wait, what? Why’d you say that?”

Jason shrugs. He has one of his arms draped across his eyes as protection from the sun, but just a single day here has already been enough to set his naturally pale skin on the path to becoming tanned brown. “‘cuz it’s you? Mister Workaholic? Mister-almost-as-bad-as-Bruce when it comes to leaving things alone?”

Dick frowns at the reminder, “I am not as bad as…”

Teal eyes peek out at him from under a muscled forearm. Jason lets Dick see just enough of his face to mark his clearly raised eyebrows.

“... okay, maybe I am a _little_.”

“Try a lot.” Jason grunts, hiding his face again. “We always talk about Tim never knowing when to quit, but you’re a pretty big culprit yourself, Dickface. A whole weekend off crime-fighting, it’s a little unbelievable for you.”

Dick sighs, caught out and not feeling particularly good about it. “Yeah, I know. Truth is…” He looks up at the blue sky overhead, sparse white clouds drifting through it. “I actually started thinking about that lately.” After the incident on his thirtieth birthday, as a matter of fact, though he keeps that part to himself. “About what I said to you before; that we never take breaks. Never take vacations. We save the city, people. Sometimes the world. But how often do we actually let ourselves sit back and enjoy it? All our scars; the battles we’ve fought, the ones we’ve won and lost… the ones we still have yet to fight and…” he swallows and licks his lips, letting the rest of that sentence stay unsaid. He feels Jason twitch beside him. “I just thought that we should get to be normal once in awhile. Have some joy in our lives, even if it is just for a weekend. I don’t want us to end up like…”

“Bruce?”

“... yeah.”

Jason doesn’t say anything further for a few seconds. Time in which Dick’s heart and mind starts to race, wondering if he’s shared too much. He probably should have laughed off the question, made a joke like he usually does, but lately…

He jolts as Jason shifts his hand across the sand between them to cover Dick’s little finger with his own. “It won’t be like that for us, Dick.”

“How can you be sure? You just said yourself, I’m like Bruce. Sometimes I don’t know when to quit. I can’t stop myself from—”

Jason cuts him off before he can go any further. “Because we’re the second generation. When he started this gig, he did it alone. But we’ve always had someone with us, whether it was him, a team, or each other. We ain’t carbon copies of the Big Bad Bat, Dick. Not even you. And if any of us start getting too big for our britches, or forget what sunlight looks like, the rest will be there to kick his ass for it.”

“Even Damian’s?”

“Especially Damian’s. Kid doesn’t know what he’s getting into wanting to put the cowl on so bad.” 

Dick snorts, curling his finger back around Jason’s. “Tell me about it. Thanks, little wing.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. Ever again.” Despite the rough words, Jason keeps his hand exactly where it is. “I’ve been having way too many heart to hearts with you lately.”

“I’m starting to think you enjoy them.”

Jason turns his head again to look at Dick, and Dick feels another pulse of gratefulness in his chest that Jason has finally come back to them. That they can talk to each other like this now, the way they always should have been able to. “In your dreams, big bird.” he grumbles. “Now shut up and get back to enjoying your vacation.”

Closing his eyes and sighing under the warmth of the sun, Dick does exactly that.


End file.
